


The Stuff You Were Never Meant to See

by BobsBurgersStories



Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Behind the Scenes, Deleted Scenes, Drabble, Drama, Early Work, Gen, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Journalism, News Media, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot Collection, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobsBurgersStories/pseuds/BobsBurgersStories
Summary: A collection of deleted scenes from "A Cry in the Park".
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	The Stuff You Were Never Meant to See

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone.  
> So, like most people, my stories go through several drafts before the final product is published. As “A Cry in the Park” was my first Bob's story, I didn't want to see the deleted parts go to waste, so I thought you might like to read some scenes that didn't make it to the final draft. It was for a number reasons, including major or minor changes, they slowed down the plot, or just plain didn't fit. I hope you enjoy reading these.  
> I guess this could be considered spoiler-y, just a heads up.  
> Line breaks indicate a new scene, and boldface is just me giving a little backstory.

**The very first draft had Louise getting stuck about halfway down the well, but it was too Baby Jessica for my liking, so I changed it. In this dramatic scene, rescue workers discover they have been digging off course :**

The rescue workers still had not reached the well, but they remained optimistic about how soon it would be until they did, and the family wanted more than anything to see the moment when Louise would come up.

As they watched, the cable supporting one of the drillers began to move; it was being raised, and even though she knew that they had not yet reached the well, Tina perked up at the sight. She couldn't help feeling disappointed when the man came up empty handed, even though Tina knew he would.

"We... we need to go back!" the man was saying frantically, having removed his mask. "Go back!"

"What do you mean?" asked Richards, as the other diggers stopped what they were doing and listened.

"We're not going in a straight line! We're veering off to the side!" Upon hearing this, the family exchanged glances, looking distressed.

"Are you sure?" Richards asked.

"Yeah; when I crawled into the tunnel, I looked down at my feet, and I could only see half of the rescue shaft!"

"Right!" Richards ordered the rescue workers to gather around him, and they did; the drilling rig was temporarily switched off so the Chief could be better heard. "We have been going the wrong way," he said to the men crowding him. "We need to get back down in that tunnel, mark off the correct point, and start digging again. And this time, let's go in a straight line!" he barked, and the personnel jumped to their tasks.

While they doing this, the Belchers' stared in shock.

"They were going the wrong way?" asked Gene.

"Oh, my God," whispered Bob. Linda was biting her bottom lip so hard she was drawing blood, her eyes were narrow, and her fists were clenched. Bob and Teddy spotted the warning signs and quickly brought her into the rangers' station, the children following them. Richards and Davis came in and stood in the living room in front of the rest of the family, who were sat on the sofa.

"Mr. and Mrs. Belcher," Davis was saying, "we cannot express how terrible we feel about this. We have already sent another driller down, and we are still working to get your daughter out."

"You were going the wrong way?" said Linda quietly, in a tone that Bob immediately recognised as danger. "All this time, you were going the wrong way, and you didn't even know?"

"Not all the time," said Richards quickly, "after the two foot mark, we accidentally went off course; the men told us that their sense of direction deserted them at times; it was difficult for them to know which way they were going."

"I don't wanna hear your excuses!" Linda snapped, trembling with rage. "I can't believe you could be so s _tupid!_ How could you not realise you were going the wrong way?! What is _wrong_ with you?!"

"Ma'am, we are very sorry this has happened," said Davis sincerely. "And we will get your daughter out; it's just a matter of time."

"You just better hope my baby's okay!" Linda snarled, absolutely livid. How could they have let this happen? If it weren't for their incompetence, Louise might have been pulled from the well days ago. It didn't bear thinking about. She'd already been trapped for more than 70 hours, and now they were probably going to spend another 70 hours digging in the right direction. By then, it would surely be too late; the doctor had already told them Louise may not survive for much longer. And dealing with Cynthia and her entitled whining on top of that, and now this? Why were they being punished? The family didn't know how much more they could take.

"We really are sorry," the fire chief repeated, and he truly was. "We're doing our best to get her out as soon as we can," and with that, Richards and Davis left and returned to the park to continue overseeing the rescue operation. The family fell silent after they left.

"... Is Louise going to die?" asked Gene quietly.

"No! Of course not!" said Bob quickly, lacing his fingers together. "She's going to be fine; they're going to get her out." He looked at his children, all of whom were silently staring at him, anguish in their eyes. "Uh, you kids' should get to bed," he said eventually, and the kids' shuffled off with Teddy after one last look out the open doors. Carol, sensing that the parents wanted to be alone, said she was going to speak to the police and stepped outside.

* * *

**I wanted to explore more of Cynthia while Louise was still trapped, and how she couldn't understand why her friends distanced themselves from her. In this scene, she attempts to invite a few friends over for drinks:**

Polishing the coffee table, Cynthia glanced at the wall clock: 12:35, so she still had a good twenty minutes before the girls turned up.

Ordinarily, the six of them would go out for lunch every Sunday, but Cynthia, feeling uneasy about being in public, had invited her friends over. Tom was at work, Logan was out doing who-knows-what, and so she had the house to herself.

By no means a chef, Cynthia was able to whip up some simple meals, and her grilled chicken was cooking nicely, and the salad with Parmesan dressing was already in the fridge. The wine was chilling in the climate controlled wine cupboard, and the glasses were on the counter, sparkling.

Cynthia couldn't help but smile a bit as she plumped the sofa cushions. Going out to eat was great and everything, but going to the same four restaurants tended to get a bit boring after a while. Perhaps staying in would be their new thing? And they would all thank her, as she was the one who started it.

She headed into the dining room, stopping momentarily to marvel at its splendour. She really had done a fantastic job; the white lace curtains had been cleaned, as had the matching runner which laid on the mahogany, eight-person table. The plates and cutlery were already laid out, including napkins, and the crystal chandelier that hung overhead glistened in the sunlight.

Ten minutes to go. A quick glance told her that everything was shipshape, and so she headed to the kitchen to grab the nibbles, and brought the platter into the living-room, artfully arranging the crackers, the canapés, the cucumber slices, and of course, the chocolate truffles. Hey, if they were going to make this their new thing, then it had to make her friends want to keep returning every Sunday.

Cynthia returned to the kitchen, and turned the oven down. The chicken wouldn't be ready for at least half an hour, and she then grabbed the wine glasses, bringing them to the living-room and placing them on the coffee table. She was done. She looked around proudly. The house, though always immaculate, was looking like something out of a magazine, and she even had easy listening music playing softly from the television. She kept the screen black to keep up the illusion of perfection.

Nodding in satisfaction, Cynthia picked up her phone, and saw that she had a text from Lacey.

_'Hey so sorry to do this to you last minute, but Christine has a fever so I have to take her to the doctors. Maybe rain check? Xxx'_

She put down the phone, frowning slightly. Since when had Christine ever had a fever? That child had always been the picture of health. She couldn't ponder this for too long, as another text had arrived, this one from Sarah.

_'Hey hun how's things going? I'm on my way, but stuck in traffic. Had to go to Bog Harbour to look for some new bedroom furniture. I'll get there as soon as I can okay hun love you xxx'_

_'Hi lovely, I just feel absolutely terrible that I have to back out, but I'm sick. Actually laid up in bed and you know how much I hate doing that! Hope to see you soon, love you lots xxx'_ came the text from Grace.

Cynthia sat heavily on the sofa, clutching her phone tightly. Were they being serious? They actually expected her to believe all that? Sarah only got new bedroom furniture two months ago! And Grace would never let illness get in the way of drinking wine.

Her mouth setting in a firm line, Cynthia dialled her friend, Hayley.

“ _Hello?”_

“Hi, I just heard about little Christine. Awful, isn't it?” she said, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“ _Christine? Oh, yes, yes it is awful,”_ said Hayley, and then Cynthia instantly knew what they were doing. She listened closely and was sure she could hear muffled talking; it sounded like they had gone to lunch without her.

“Oh, don't give me that! Why are you all making excuses about not coming over?”

“ _I haven't made any excuses,”_ said Hayley delicately.

“Oh, so you're coming then?” Cynthia set her jaw when her friend paused awkwardly. She heard footsteps, and a few hushed whispers.

“ _Well, you see, something unexpected has come up, and -”_

“Yeah, something unexpected, sure(!) Honestly, why don't you all stop acting like children? I know I'm on loudspeaker, so why don't you all just man up and tell me why you don't want to visit!”

“ _You want to know why?”_ Hayley's voice was suddenly sharp. _“Because you just don't get it! Your son did something awful, and it's like you don't even care!”_

“Is that what this is about? It wasn't his fault!”

“ _You know, I really hoped this would be a wake up call for you,”_ Hayley continued. _“I thought knowing what your son did would open your eyes, but all you're doing is pulling the wool down further.”_

“What are you talking about?”

“ _Logan's always been like this. Remember a couple of years ago? We came to yours for a pool party, and Logan pushed Ellie into the pool?”_

“So? It was a pool party; you're supposed to get wet.”

“ _You_ know _Ellie is afraid of the water! She wanted to come by and play with her friends, but your son kept teasing her.”_

“He was only 11!” said Cynthia, resisting the urge to get up and pace, or throw something.

“ _So? He was old enough to know he shouldn't be doing that, especially as he also knew that my child is scared of pools.”_

“So that's it? You're alienating me because my son pushed your daughter into a pool, and because he accidentally pushed Louise, and she ended up falling into a well?”

" _It's not just that,”_ came another voice that Cynthia recognised as Lacey's. _“Logan's bullied all our kids, and you've just sat by and let it happen.”_

“When has he ever bullied your kids?!” Cynthia screeched, unable to stop herself from throwing a pillow to the ground.

“ _All the time!”_ Lacey snapped. “ _Whenever we come to your house, Logan won't let Christine play with anything. He kept taking her favourite toy and refused to give it back. Don't you remember him holding it over her head and laughing?”_

“He was just playing!” Cynthia defensively reached out and grabbed a cracker, munching on it.

“ _He made her cry. Several times,”_ said Lacey shortly. _“It just doesn't sink in with you, does it? Even now. Does he still push the kids off the swings and stuff at the park, or has he grown out of that?”_ she asked sarcastically.

“I don't follow him around 24/7,” said Cynthia pompously.

“ _Well, maybe you should start,”_ came Grace's voice. _“Look, you're still our friend; we just don't feel like you're truly understanding just how bad this situation is. We've been telling you about this for years, but you've always ignored us, and now look where it's gotten you. A little girl could die.”_

“I don't know how many times I have to say it; it's not Logan's fault that she fell in the well. If she dies, it'll be because those diggers are taking so damn long.”

“ _Oh, my God; you really don't get it,”_ said Sarah. _“We're gonna go now. I guess we'll see you when all of this is over.”_

Cynthia didn't even bother to say goodbye before she hung up angrily. She threw her phone down on the sofa and glowered. It was bad enough that complete strangers were insulting her, now her friends had completely ditched her? What next? Her family having to go on TV and grovel for forgiveness? Honestly, it was just ridiculous. She hoped to see her friends (if she could even call them that now) beg for forgiveness as soon as Louise was out.

Cynthia could not believe that they were accusing her of being a bad mother. Okay, they didn't actually say that, but they didn't need to. What about all the times Christine talked back to Lacey? Cynthia never said a word about that. Or when Ellie dropped one of Cynthia's china figurines, and it broke? She didn't say anything, though she was itching to. Or even Peter, Christine's older brother, tracking mud into Cynthia's house?

Logan wasn't perfect, but neither were their kids, and she never said anything to her friends because it wasn't her place. She got the distinct feeling that her friends thought they were better than her. Probably because they weren't the mother of a 'thug.'

Her face set, she picked up the platter, and took it into the kitchen, dumping the contents in the bin. She pulled out the chicken, throwing that away, as well, and angrily put the plates and cutlery away. If they didn't want to be her friends any more, well, fine! She didn't need them anyway.

She poured herself a glass of wine and retreated to the living-room, turning on the television. She flicked through the channels, searching for some mindless soaps, and avoided the news stations at all cost; she did _not_ want to be reminded of Louise Belcher.

* * *

**Like many of you, I've wondered why Millie is obsessed with Louise. I gave her a little moment here, but ultimately decided to scrap it. Here, she keeps vigil at the well:**

Her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest, Millie pressed herself against the barriers directly opposite the well. She was always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave. When she got too tired, she would sit, but she would not move from her spot until her mother came and forcibly brought her home.

That Monday morning, Millie was not at school. How could she be expected to sit in a classroom and learn about useless things she would never even need, when her bestie was trapped underground? She couldn't just abandon Louise; no, Millie was going to stay there until she was out, until Millie knew Louise was okay.

She had, quite frankly, had enough of being moved back whenever she crossed the barriers. Why couldn't those idiots see that she was just trying to help? It was like they didn't even care about Louise, the greatest person to ever exist, and it felt like getting her out wasn't a high priority for them.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away, staring intently at the well.

 _'You can do this, Louise,'_ she thought, not taking her eyes off the well, concentrating with all her might. _'You can fight. You can survive this, I know you can. You've got to live. We're best friends; what will I do without you?'_

She waited a few moments to let the message get down to Louise (poor Louise, stuck there all alone, oh, my God, she must be so scared), before doing it again. Millie was convinced that Louise was getting her messages. She, of course, knew her bestie was fighting with everything she had, but Millie still couldn't relax. It was hard for her not to think scary thoughts, like what if Louise got so scared she had a panic attack? No-one would be able to help her, not even Millie, because they wouldn't let her pass the barrier, and Millie would know how to calm Louise down.

What if Louise choked on the water they gave her? How would anyone be able to help her? What if the microphone or the speaker became loose and fell and hit her on the head, knocking her out?

Millie groaned in frustrations; there was so many things they were doing wrong, and they could all be fixed if they would just let her help. She didn't know why the drillers were making it unnecessarily difficult. What was so hard about tying a rope around her and then lowering her into the well? Okay, it might be a bit of a tight squeeze, but Millie would make it work. She also vowed to fatten Louise up when she was free, so that nothing like this could ever happen again.

If they put Millie down the well, not only could she comfort her best friend the way only she could, because seriously, nobody knew Louise like she did. Nobody. But, she also could remove the bricks, and save her! It was just bricks; it couldn't be that hard, could it? Millie honestly believed that the only reason the wannabe rescuers were doing this was because they wanted a piece of the spotlight. It was the only explanation as for why they were taking so long.

Even when school had let out, and the rest of the kids came by to see how it was going, Millie didn't move. If the others didn't care enough to be there all the time, then they didn't deserve to be near the front.

While they inanely gabbled on and on, wondering how long it was going to take, asking one another if Louise was okay, Millie remained front and centre, focused on one thing and one thing only. Louise.

She hadn't eaten all day; she'd made up her mind not to eat until Louise was out. It was her way of truly empathising with Louise. She was very hungry, so now, she knew just how Louise felt. It was another to strengthen their already stronger than iron bond. She knew Louise would be amazed and grateful the way Millie was suffering just as she was. Then, Louise would know just how much Millie cared about her.

“Have you been here all day?” came Regular-sized Rudy's voice.

“Got a problem with that?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the well.

“No, no, I think it's great. At least you get all the latest updates.” Upon hearing that, she turned her head to face him.

“That's because I _care_ enough to stay here all day! Unlike you, I don't care if I miss school; the most important thing is being here for my best friend!” she snapped, and Rudy looked taken aback. He knew better than to say anything, though; irritating Millie was never a good idea.

Millie had already turned away from him, and resumed staring at the well, sending more telepathic messages to Louise.

She was still there when night had fallen, and all the other kids had gone home. She was still there when some of the crowd had gone home, and soon her mother, a woman in her thirties' with the same blonde hair and wide eyes, showed up.

“Millie, it's time to come home now,” she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“No, Mom, I can't!” Millie whined, grabbing on to the barriers.

“Millie, darling,” said her mother, Claire, tentatively, “you need to go to bed.”

“I'll sleep here” Millie insisted. “I'll be fine; I just need a blanket.”

“You can't stay here,” her mother said. “You can come back tomorrow, but you need to sleep in a bed.”

“I can't!” Millie wailed. “Louise doesn't get to sleep in a bed! Why can't she be in a bed, and I can be stuck in a well?!”

“I don't know, sweetie. I know it's not fair, but there isn't anything we can do about it.”

“But there is!” Millie didn't care that what was left of the crowd were turning around and staring. She had their sympathies; to an outsider, she was just a little girl concerned about her friend. To an outsider, it was sweet. “I can stay here with Louise and help her!”

“Millie darling, you know they won't let you speak to her,” Claire knelt down and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders. “I know you're worried; I am, too, but you're still a child. You're my child, and you need to come home.”

“But Louise needs me more than you do.” Claire sighed inwardly. She knew that Millie and Louise were best friends forever that had a special bond, but she also knew that the authorities wouldn't let Millie pass the barriers, and so there was no way that her daughter could possibly help Louise.

“All right, tell me; how exactly have you been helping Louise?” she asked gently. “How have you been helping her, when they won't let any of the kids talk to her?”

“I've been sending her messages with my mind,” Millie admitted tearfully. “Louise has been getting them; I know she has!” she sniffled. “And they're helping her.”

“Okay. Well, why don't you just come home? You can send Louise messages from your bed.”

“No, I can't,” Millie pouted.

“Surely, Louise will get the messages no matter how far away you are?” Claire suggested, and Millie looked up at her. “As long as you're concentrating hard enough, they will reach her.”

Momentarily silenced, Millie looked back and forth between her mother and the well. Her gaze lingered on it, wondering if Louise was asleep. Was she sleeping peacefully, or having nightmares? What if she was too afraid to sleep? Millie could help; she could cross the barriers and read bedtime stories, or even sing songs.

“She – she needs me,” Millie whispered.

“I know, and you can still help her,” Claire assured her. “No matter where you are, you can help her, because you're best friends.”

Breathing heavily, the distraught Millie allowed her mother to take her hand and lead her away. Millie turned and looked back over her shoulder at the tiny well.

 _'Goodnight, Louise,'_ she thought, sending the message underground to her bestie.

* * *

**This first draft was very, very heavy on the drama. This scene was supposed to take place on the Tuesday:**

The chill had increased, forcing the Belchers to don their coats, and they gathered once more in the park, their jackets pulled tightly about them, leaning forward with the force of the wind.

Louise had now been in the well for 120 hours, exactly five days. Carol was standing with Davis, talking to him, before she made her way back over to the family.

“They've gotten two inches closer to her,” she said brightly, holding her ponytail down against the wind.

“Just over a foot to go,” Tina mused, looking over at the well. He tried not to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help thinking that Louise could be out of the well before the day was out.

“Are they going the right way?” Linda asked, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“Yes, they've been going straight ahead.”

“I'm gonna go talk to Louise,” said Gene after moment, making his way over to the well.

...

As if someone had slit the clouds open, it began to rain heavily. Very heavily. The sudden downpour of gushing water shocked the people in and around the park, and all at one there was a great rush of movement. People were running about, trying to protect the equipment, reporters were shoving their equipment under their coats and clothing, onlookers and children shrieked as the torrential rain drenched them within seconds.

Tim was kneeling over the well, trying to prevent any water from entering it.

“Get us an umbrella or something!” he screamed into the rain, as Gene leapt up and dashed back to his family, soaking wet. There was absolute chaos; everyone in the park was running about, jackets were being removed and thrown over equipment. “Get something!” Tim screamed again. “We can't let water get in!”

Linda froze momentarily before rushing over to the well, Bob right behind her. Teddy made Tina and Gene get inside out of the rain before he followed his friends. The three of them, along with Tim and Charlie, were all kneeling closely over the well, hoping that no water fell in. All five of them were so frantic that they kept bumping heads and jostling one another, but none of that mattered; Louise was their priority.

Inside the ranger station, Tina and Gene removed their sopping jackets, and wrapped themselves in blankets, before they both stood by the back windows, watching the scene before them, wide-eyed.

Richards was bellowing over the roar of the rain.

“Has anyone got an umbrella? An umbrella?!” he hollered to all of the crowd, who were still watching, almost transfixed. “We need umbrellas for gazebos!” he roared. “If anyone has them, bring them now!” For a moment, it appeared that he was being ignored, but then he saw movement from the back of the crowd, and over the heads of the dozens of people, was something red, white, and stripy. Ranger Matthew Dainko had gotten one of the large patio umbrellas that were used for the picnic tables, and was struggling to bring it towards him. “Move out the way, there!” Richards yelled, trying to remain calm. “Let him through!” His heart pounded as the man struggled with the umbrella in the wind, almost being knocked over several times, before, finally, two other people rushed over to help him.

It took several minutes until they managed to place it over the well. They had nothing to weigh it down with, however, and the umbrella was in danger of blowing away. Tim and Charlie each grabbed the pole, and stood their ground, and although it whipped about dangerously, the two held strong. Bob, Linda, and Teddy remained where they were, the three of them crouching over the well. The officers were so focused on keeping the umbrella still that they didn't notice that another one had been erected over the rescue shaft, and two burly men were holding that down, as well.

The rain seemed to go on forever; it was more comfortable digging the tunnel, for at least that meant they were out of the wind and rain.

Gene and Tina remained inside, watching from the main office. The rain still poured down upon them, and many of the firemen, volunteers and reporters had placed their jackets over their heads, while a few of the drillers were quickly covering the flatbed truck with the drills to prevent them from getting any wetter.

Tina could see that Olsen Benner and the cameraman were still filming and that they had covered the camera in a plastic bag. Olsen was holding her jacket over her microphone to protect it and was talking into the camera.

The rain did not seem to be letting up, and so the siblings remained indoors, silently waiting and hoping.

* * *

**Again, Louise was supposed to be stuck around the halfway mark, prompting a Baby Jessica style rescue. I felt the similarities were too much, (even a failed first attempt to get her out!) so I changed it. This is the paramedics first go at trying to free Louise:**

"Can you reach her?" asked Simon, switching on his light.

"Just about; I can just about touch her foot." The tunnel was so small that Patrick could only reach one arm up the well. He was lying on his back, and his fingertips were just brushing the bottom of Louise's right shoe. "Louise, can you hear me?" he called and the child only moaned a little in reply. Patrick knew that Louise was fatigued and definitely dehydrated, but as long as she was making noises, that meant that she was still alive.

“Just one?” asked Simon worriedly. “Where's the other foot?”

“Hand me the mirror,” Patrick stretched out his free arm and Simon passed him the hand mirror. Forcing his arm up past his chest, Patrick managed to put the mirror in his other hand, and then adjusted the light that was stuck to the wall. Angling his head, he looked up into the well. “I can see her right leg,” he said, observing the dirty limb, “and the hem of her skirt. I can't see her other leg,” he admitted, manoeuvring the mirror. “Oh, wait, I think I see something.”

“What?”

“It looks like her other leg got caught at the knee,” said Patrick. “It looks like the leg is bent with the foot hanging down.”

“So, her knee is pressed into the well? She's pinned?” Simon felt like groaning. Freeing her wasn't going to be an easy task.

“That's what it looks like.” Patrick brought the mirror out of the well, and re-inserted his arm, and began talking to Louise once again. "My name's Patrick, and I'm a paramedic. I'm going to help you.” His grip wasn't good, but it was better than nothing. "Don't worry; we're gonna get you out," Patrick assured her. Patrick decided to forgo any questions he had and concentrated on his task of freeing the girl.

"What did she say?" came Simon's voice at his feet.

"She didn't say anything." He tightened his grip on Louise's foot and began to pull.

"What's happening" asked Simon worriedly, hearing nothing as Patrick tried to free Louise.

"Her leg's moving, but she isn't. She's wedged in there too tight." Patrick was still pulling Louise by the leg, but all he was doing was hurting her; the leg would only move so far and now it had stopped. Patrick still had a hold on Louise's foot, but there was no movement at all. She was well and truly stuck.

"Just keep pulling," Simon urged.

"Oh, God, I don't think I can get her out," Patrick admitted.

“Just try,” said Simon, raising his light a little bit higher.

“What do you think I'm doing?” Patrick barely refrained from snapping. “She won't move; I can't do anything! She's really wedged in there," Patrick was at a loss; he didn't know what to do. He was still pulling Louise, but the girl still was not moving. Getting another paramedic would be no good; that wasn't the problem; Louise was pinned and could not move, and they had no way to unstick her. The situation seemed more hopeless than ever.

“Remember what the doctor said; it doesn't matter if you hurt her, as long you get her out.”

“I know, but she's just not moving!” He began to call back up the well, trying to reassure Louise that they were still going to get her out, while Patrick tried to think of something, anything, that would free the girl.

“Patrick?” came Simon's voice at his feet. “They're asking what's the hold up,” and Patrick suddenly had an epiphany.

“I know what to do now,” he said quickly, trying to keep calm. “I need some cooking oil or something."

"What?" asked Simon.

"I need something like that, cooking oil, or butter, or something to make her slippery enough to move her. I need something like that to ease her out."

“Of course!” Simon slapped his forehead, wondering why they never thought of it sooner, and he grabbed his radio.

"I need to be able to get it up around where her middle is; that's where's she seems to be stuck, so I'll need a tube, or something that will stretch up into the well." Simon quickly gabbled orders into his radio, and Patrick continued to comfort Louise. The men above ground had sent orders to get what was needed to get, right that minute, immediately. They were lucky in the fact that the many volunteers were more than happy to get what they needed, and the relevant items were quickly lowered down.

“What did they bring?” asked Patrick, still holding onto Louise's dangling foot.

“Tubes of Vaseline, and cooking oil with a turkey baster; I told them you needed to reach up into the well, so that's what the baster's for,” Simon told him.

“Great,” Patrick was practically holding his breath in anticipation as Simon filled the baster with the oil, before passing it to him. Patrick wrestled his arm out of the well and grabbed the baster, before forcing his arm back up into the well and began to squirt the oil into the well, aiming where he thought Louise's middle was, and the sides of the well. When it was empty, Patrick handed the baster back to Simon with great difficulty, and he re-inserted his arm into the well. "I'm going to start pulling her again now," he announced, grabbing Louise's foot.

To his dismay, Louise was still not moving, no matter how hard Patrick pulled her. “Oh, God!” he groaned, as oil dripped down onto his arm. “Come on, Louise, move,” he begged quietly. His breath hitched when he suddenly managed to move Louise a fraction, but he came to realise that the attempt was fruitless. “... I can't do it,” he said after a while. “I can't.”

“What do you mean?” asked Simon. “I thought you said you knew what to do!”

“I thought I did; but the hole's too small. I just moved her, but she's not gonna be able to fit through the hole.”

“Just try,” Simon pleaded, against all of his natural instincts.

“Look, I've just told you that she is not going to fit! Sorry, but I'm not gonna risk it!” Simon knew that he was right; the best thing to do would be to let the diggers widen the hole – even a few inches would probably do the job – rather than continue with what they were doing and risk possible further injury to Louise. But his mind was frazzled, and, like everybody else, he wanted to get Louise out as soon as possible.

Shouting from above caught Simon's attention and the young man looked up at the personnel surrounding the tunnel; they were motioning for them to keep going and he relayed this to Patrick. "I can't do it!" Patrick snapped. "The hole's too small; I might break her back!" He let go of Louise's foot. "Louise, I'm gonna come back later!" Patrick called, feeling like crying. "I promise I'll come back and get you out. You're gonna be fine, I promise. We're coming back! We're gonna get you out."Feeling horrendously guilty, Patrick wriggled out of the tunnel with great difficulty, before standing face-to-face with Simon. "I can't get her out of there," he said, panting slightly, a lot calmer now that he was out of the tight tunnel. "They need to make the hole bigger."

Simon only nodded before signalling to the rescuers above ground that he was ready to come out. After the ropes had started moving and Simon was hoisted into the air, Patrick buried his face in his hands and fought back tears.

When Simon had reached ground level, he avoided looking at Bob, who was standing close by. The cameras stopped flashing as quickly as they had started once it was realised that Louise was not with them. Linda was staring at him, as the rest of the family joined her, and she looked down at the tunnel, as if hoping to see Louise climb up.

"What's the problem?" asked Richards.

"He couldn't get her out, sir." Upon hearing that, Linda covered her face and buried her head in Bob's shirt, fighting back tears. Bob, close to crying himself, could do little more than rub her back comfortingly. Gene, Tina, and Teddy could only stare at the man in disbelief. This couldn't be happening.

When Patrick was brought to the surface, he too faced the scathing glare of the Belcher family. In his mind, he deserved it; he had failed to save their child and sister. He knew as well as anybody else that Louise would not be able to survive down there for much longer; she couldn't even talk. If they were able to widen the tunnel so that it was big enough to safely extract the girl, it was only a matter of time before it was too late. And if it was too late, it would be all his fault. He was snapped out of his thoughts when Richards grabbed his arm.

"You need to make the hole bigger," he said hurriedly, still feeling the family glaring at him. "I can't get close to her; I can only reach her foot, and I can't get my other arm up there." Patrick was sent off for oxygen and Linda followed him with fire in her belly.

While Patrick sat in the back of the ambulance with an oxygen mask over his face, Linda approached him.

"This ambulance is for my daughter," she said quietly.

"Ma'am," Patrick began, "I really did try to get her out, but -" but Linda cut him off, her mama bear instinct swooping in.

"You tried? You _tried?!_ You did not try! If you had, my daughter would be out of there by now!"

"Please, ma'am, the hole is too small, she -" but hell hath no fury like Linda, especially when her children were concerned.

"I don't care! My daughter is still trapped down there! She's been down there for five days now! Do you not understand how serious this is?! Do you realise that there is a child stuck fifty-three feet underground?! Why didn't you pull her out?!" she was screeching by this point, not caring about anything except the fact that Louise was still trapped down the well. She should be here with her family now and Linda couldn't understand why it had not happened.

"Ma'am, if I had pulled her out, she would have broken her neck or her back," said Patrick, causing Linda to stop in her tracks. Before she could say anything else, Big Bob had appeared and led her away.

"It's all right," he said quietly as they made their way back to the well, ignoring the shouting of reporters, his arm around her. "It's going to be fine," he repeated as Linda shook her head beside him. "They're going to make the hole bigger, and then they're going to go back down there and get Louise out. Everything's gonna be fine."

"Fine? Big Bob, how can it be fine? Louise is still down there!" Linda was not in the mood to be positive. She didn't notice that Bob was struggling to restrain himself. She didn't see his shaking hands, his worn out face, his clenched jaw.

Tina was knelt down next to the well, the headphones over his ears, talking to Louise, assuring her that they were still going to get her out.

"Everything's going to be fine because it has to be. Right?" said Gene, slipping his hand into his mother's. Linda bent down and cupped his face in her hands.

"Of course everything will be fine. They're going to get her out," she whispered, kissing him on the forehead. She had to believe. Then, she turned to the well. "Louise?" she called, and Tina gave her the headphones. She felt like her heart was ripping in two. "Louise, baby, can you hear me?" she choked, trying not to cry. "Listen, baby, I promise you that we're going to get you out of there. They're gonna come back down when they've made the hole bigger. You're gonna get out of there. Just hang on."

Bob was looking over at the drillers, who were already rigging up someone else. Grinding his teeth, he marched over to them. Almost blindly, he grabbed the cables.

"Just hook me up to this thing, and I'll get her out," he said desperately. "I'll go down there and get her out!"

“Sir, we can't do that,” said a driller, looking around for Richards or Davis.

“You can and you will!” Bob insisted, a look of crazy in his eyes that would be better seen on Linda. “Let me go and save my daughter!”

“Sir, you can't!”

“Put me in this thing!” Bob ordered, but no-one listened to him. “Fine! If you won't do that, then I'll just jump down.” He made for the rescue shaft, and very nearly jumped in, but was pulled back just in time. “No! No, I need to do this!” he yelled. He began to writhe and kick, and more men ran over to help restrain him. “My daughter needs me! Why won't you let me help?!”

“Sir -” Richards made his way over, getting very nearly kicked by Bob, “sir, I need you to calm down.”

“I won't calm down until my baby is safe!”

“Mr Belcher, we need to work, we need to get back down there, and so you need to step aside.”

“No!”

“Sir, please, the sooner we get back down there, the sooner we can get her out, but you need to let these people do their jobs.”

Bob, although very upset, stopped struggling, looking worn out.

“Alright, okay,” he whispered, allowing himself to be led away.

* * *

**The early version of the actual rescue. Some of the scenes made it to the final draft, like the family and crowd waiting, so they have been removed.**

"Louise has been trapped for more than five days. This kid has already beaten the odds, but she cannot survive down there for much longer. This is our last chance," said Davis to the crew before Patrick and Simon were due to make another rescue attempt. He looked over at the doctor, who stepped forward.

"I know you're afraid of hurting her," he began, "but if you have to break her arms and legs, then so be it. Just as long as her head, neck and back are okay. The rest can be fixed; broken arms and legs can be fixed, all right?”

"Yeah," Patrick nodded, looking over to the well.

"Remember," the doctor's voice brought Patrick's attention back to him. "Do what you have to do to get her out."

Davis made his way over to the back door of the ranger station home and knocked upon it. When he entered, he found the family gathered in the makeshift living-room.

"Mr and Mrs Belcher," he began. "We ask that you make your way over to the ambulance -"

"Have you got Louise out?" asked Bob, accidentally cutting him off.

"You said you would come and get us before you got her out!" Linda accused, glaring at the police chief.

"No, we haven't gotten her out yet," Davis admitted, "but the paramedics are going back down right now, so we'd like you to wait in the ambulance, and your children can wait in the car."

"But I wanna be there when they bring her up," said Linda.

"I know, ma'am, but we can't afford to waste any time; we want to get her to the hospital as quick as we can, and you'll be right there with her." For a while, Lois just stared at him.

"... Fine," she muttered eventually, as she and the rest of her family made their way back outside.

...

"Is it any better?" came Simon's voice at his feet.

"There's a bit more room; I can get both arms up there now," revealed Patrick, who was back in the tomb-like tunnel and was reaching up to Louise's foot. "I can reach her leg. She's still alive, I can hear her," he reported, after hearing a faint noise from above him.

"That's good," said Simon, relieved. "Do you need the Vaseline?"

"Yeah, pass it up," said Patrick and Simon reached into his pocket and handed his co-worker a large tube of petroleum jelly, unscrewing the cap before he did so. He also had more cooking oil, but first they were going to try with the Vaseline. Patrick forced one arm back back up the well and began squirting the substance on the well walls, as well as on Louise; hopefully it would assist in pulling her out. Patrick held the tube in his one free hand and aimed it where he thought Louise's midsection was, and was given another one, and he emptied the second tube into the well.

...

Patrick tried to hide his frustration; he was still pulling Louise's foot, but the girl still wasn't moving.

"Damn it," he cursed softly, loud enough for Simon to hear.

"What?"

"She's still not moving. Come on, Louise, try and move," he tried to coax the girl. Patrick was still reaching up into the well, and pulling on Louise's foot, but the Vaseline was doing little to help matters. Louise wasn't whimpering or crying, but she was breathing heavily. Patrick understood that the pulling caused Louise pain, but there was no other way to get her out, and he relayed this to the child, trying to pull the stuck girl, but she still wasn't moving.

"Is she moving yet?" came Simon's voice.

"No! Louise, come on; just try and move, and I'll get you out. I told you I'd come back, didn't I? I'm back, and I'm going to get you out." The girl remained stationary and Patrick grew more and more frustrated, even though he knew it was not Louise's fault, but he couldn't bear to wait any longer. He was going to get Louise out of the well today, no matter what.

Straining, Patrick reached up as far as he could with both hands, pressing his head against the roof of the tunnel, and managed to grab the girl's ankle, and, in a moment of frustration, pulled it down hard, a bit too far than it would have normally stretched. It must have hurt, and Patrick immediately felt guilty; he was certain he'd injured the girl, but Louise still did not make a sound. The lack of crying and whimpering disturbed him.

Words could not describe just how awful he felt for losing his temper and hurting the Louise, but he was desperate to get her out, even though he knew that that was no excuse for what he had done. As a paramedic, he was supposed to remain calm in all sorts of situations, and he had really tried, but it was well-known that if Louise would not last much longer and so he had just pulled her.

It was the only way to get her out, Patrick knew, and there was nothing else that could be done; he was just going to have to do it, and he called up to Louise, apologising in advance, and telling her that the sooner she was out, the sooner the pain would stop.

Simon, unable to do anything to help, looked up at the personnel surrounding the rescue shaft. Each officer and doctor were either making pulling gestures, urging him to continue, or raising their hands in a 'what's going on?' gesture. He raised his hand, gesturing back for them to wait, and turned his attention back to Patrick.

Patrick took a few deep breaths, adjusted his grip on Louise's foot and began to pull once again. The girl was still not moving, and Patrick felt like crying. “Come on, Louise, please,” he whispered, continuing to pull, trying with all his might, and to his amazement, she slowly began to move down, very slowly, barely inch by inch, but she was moving. He really had to keep a firm hold on the her, as Louise was still wedged in tight and it was difficult to move her. "She's moving," he reported in surprise, unable to see Simon's hopeful look.

It was a very slow, painful process; Patrick would pull Louise a fraction of an inch closer to freedom, wait for her to catch her breath, and then pull again. "Okay, calm down," Patrick coaxed, trying to relax her. "It's okay, Louise. Calm down." There were 38 inches between Louise's foot and the entrance to the tunnel, and so far, Patrick had only managed to pull her down two of those inches.

Patrick continued to pull, and as Louise reached the part of the well which was covered in Vaseline, she began to move more quickly. The girl was still silent, unnerving Patrick, but he did not stop pulling. He couldn't, not now that they were this close. They were going to get her out, Patrick realised, as Louise's shoe appeared in his line of vision, and her heavy breathing grew louder. "She's moving," he repeated, needing to say it, as Louise came closer. "We're getting her out! Here she comes, I've got her."

Simon's eyes grew wider as Louise's foot appeared above Patrick's head into the passageway. A few moments later, her leg appeared as well, and Patrick continued to pull the child, and manoeuvred Louise further, as the rest of her body appeared in the tunnel. She was free.

Patrick held the girl above him, hurriedly assessing her condition in the dim light. Louise's grey face was caked in dirt and grime and was tear-streaked. Her bare arms, also grey, which were bent up with her hands by her head, were also covered in dirt and mud, bruised and scraped here and there, and were now streaked with oil and Vaseline; the jelly-like substance also lined one side of her face. Her elbows were scraped raw and blackened. Her dirt encrusted hair was on end, and her bunny ears were slightly askew and filthy. Her dress was damp, dirty and stained. A fresh wound on her forehead above her right eye from brow to hairline was trickling blood. Her left knee was resting on Patrick's shoulder.

Louise let out a deep breath, and her cold body suddenly went limp, her forehead flopping down onto Patrick's and her eyes closing. "Louise? Louise?!" The girl did not answer, or even move, causing Patrick's heartbeat to quicken with fear. The paramedic tried to remain calm as he struggled to raise his arm and pressed his fingers against Louise's neck, urgently feeling about, as Louise laid on his body, silent, cold and unmoving. A few agonisingly slow seconds passed before he could feel a pulse and he sighed in relief.

"What? What is it?!" came Simon's worried voice at his feet.

"Nothing!" he called as Louise's eyes opened again. "She just flopped down on me; she's okay. Send in the back board," and the board was inserted into the tunnel over Louise's back.

Keeping a hold on the girl, Patrick turned over so that Louise was lying on the floor; he knew immediately from the way her left leg dangled that it was broken, so he took great care in pushing her out into the shaft. "Watch that left leg; it's broken," he warned Simon, as the medic pulled Louise out. Simon was able to hold Louise, keeping her in a more or less horizontal position until Patrick was able to squirm back out of the tunnel.

* * *

**Due to Louise's awkward, original position, her injuries were also a bit different. Of course, in order to keep her stuck at the halfway point, the well was originally smaller, as well. Again, parts that ended up the finished story have been removed:**

The room would look like a typical hospital room were it not filled with state-of-the-art equipment; most of the monitors and machines were surrounding the bed, lying in which was Louise, sleeping soundly.

"Louise!" Linda gasped, rushing over to her child and hugging her tightly. Louise had been cleaned up and now the only marks visible on her face and arms, which were still grey, were some bruises and scrapes. A small cylindrical cushion was underneath her neck so that her head did not rest fully on the pillow. A bandage was wrapped around her head, a large band-aid, barely visible, over her right eyebrow. Her collarbone, visible in her hospital gown, was bruised on the right side. A patch of dressing was taped over her left elbow. She already looked very different to the rescue videos they had seen of her.

Bob could see the outline of what appeared to be a cast under the blanket, confirming that Louise did indeed have a broken leg. Her right arm was in a sling, and there were IVs in both of her arms, snaking under the sling, at the end of which peeked out another patch of dressing over the right elbow. There was a catheter inserted into the right side of her neck, covered by a small patch of dressing and connected to two more tubes, which were hooked up to a machine next to her bed, which was covered in wires, pumps and dials.Electrodes attached to a heart monitor, which was beeping steadily, were stuck on her chest.

…

"Tell us - is she going to be okay?" Bob asked, turning to Robin.

"As of now, her condition is critical but stable," she began professionally. "She has a broken leg, and a circulation problem could develop in future; she also has a broken clavicle, hypothermia, a grade three pressure wound on the back of her head, where we believe it was pressed against the well; she also has more grade three pressure wounds; on her left knee, and a few on the shin; we believe they were also pressed against the well. The wounds became infected, and she has contracted septicaemia. She is also severely dehydrated. When she arrived, her kidneys were shutting down, so she's been put on dialysis. If the dialysis treatments are unsuccessful, Louise will possibly have to have a kidney transplant. She is also malnourished, so we are feeding her intravenously; her muscles have been breaking down, due to non-use, so we are giving her treatment for that. Her right hip was strained when she was pulled out, causing a minor tear of the femoral ligament. She also has scrapes and bruises here and there, but nothing severe and she won't need any stitches."

Bob stared at the nurse, not able to believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, Louise seemed to look in worse shape than she had all night.

* * *

**This was a small scene of the rescue from Louise's perspective:**

She was so tired. She was hungry, thirsty, and cold. She had lost all feeling in her left leg some time ago, and now that the drills had temporarily stopped, her ears were ringing. 

"Don't worry, Louise," came that voice from above her. "It won't be long before you're out." She did not answer. There was nothing she could do.

She could move her fingers, sometimes scratching her face in the process, and she could bend her right leg about two or three inches, and she could move her left foot slightly. Well, she used to be able to do all this stuff; now she was too weak. She used to be able to wiggle her toes, but if she was able to now, she couldn't feel it. She could not move her head at all, and her left thigh was pressed alongside her body, making the already small, tight space even smaller. Her shoulders and torso filled the circumference of the well, doing a fine job of keeping her in place, as did her bent up knee.

And then she heard another voice below her. It sounded like that man who had tried to get her out, but she wasn't sure of anything any more. Louise could hear the man talking, and she could feel him grabbing her foot before she felt something cold on her leg, just below her hip. The man started to pull her leg again. If she were a little healthier, she would have realised that the man was trying to free her.

After a few moments, the man was holding her foot again, and it was yanked down, but she didn't feel the pain. She heard the man apologising, before he resumed pulling. Even though she was feeling very dizzy and light-headed, she was vaguely aware that she was moving down, little by little. Louise could feel that cold stuff on her side now and all she could do was close her eyes and breathe heavily because the well was so tight and it hurt so much to be squeezed through.

She felt her leg, her right leg, being bent, and she felt another hand on her hip, and she opened her eyes. All she could see was black, but she was moving, because her right leg was somewhere else, somewhere bigger, and the man's hands were pulling her from the waist and side now. She was still moving, and she felt something cold and slimy on her face.

Suddenly, she was staring into the face of a man, who was looking both concerned and relieved at the same time. Louise was lying on the man's stomach and the man was holding her up. She let out a deep breath and tried to comprehend what was happening. Everything felt muffled and delayed.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, a thought pushed its way to the front. _'You're out,'_ it told her. _'You're free,'_ and Louise finally relaxed, flopping down onto her saviour.

* * *

**As the story is set in the present day, social media played a huge part. In this scene, reporters from a morning breakfast show in London present the news updates on the rescue, about a week after Louise was freed:**

While Louise slept and reporters waited for something new to print, four television presenters in London, England were getting ready to begin their daily breakfast talk show. It was currently the most popular breakfast show in Great Britain, due to the rapport between the hosts; it was clear they all were great friends off camera, and due to the fact that they didn't act like reporters or talk show hosts; they just appeared to be a group of friends who happened to have all the latest news developments, and viewers loved tuning in to see how they would handle whatever news stories they were reporting.

The two men and two women, all of them young, attractive, and well-groomed, were standing behind the cameras, waiting for some lighting to be adjusted; one woman, Amy Baker was going over some of the topics they were going to be discussing, when an assistant ran up to them.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper, and holding a DVD, panting slightly. “Here's a news story from America; about a kid who's been rescued from a well.”

“Slow news day?” Amy raised an eyebrow.

“No, no; it's huge in America – this kid; she was pushed into a well by a teenage boy, and she was trapped in there for five days before they got her out. And she had no food!” That was interesting. The presenters hadn't heard of anything like that before. “I know it's late notice; but my boss just told me about this. All the details are on there, and they'll be on the Teleprompter.”

“Okay, thanks,” Amy said, as they were called to take their seats, which they did, studying the report on Louise as they did so. It sounded a little far-fetched to her, but it had been added to the script, and so, the show must go on.

Louise's story was at the very end of the two hour show. “Finally, we bring you a story from across the pond that has captured the attention of millions of Americans.”

“Yes, on February 22nd, nine-year-old Louise Belcher was running an errand for her father, when she was pushed into an abandoned well – by the teenage boy who'd been bullying her. Rescue workers spent 114 hours drilling a tunnel to reach her, and she was freed the following Wednesday. What makes this story so miraculous is the fact that the well Louise fell into was only 14 inches wide, and until her rescue, five days later, she had no food and limited water,” one of the men, Ben Walkers, continued.

“She remains in hospital being treated for dehydration, and a broken leg and collarbone. We have an interview with one of the rescuers for you, now. Let's take a look,” said the second woman, Janet Moore, as the footage of the interview Patrick had given played, followed by a short clip of the actual rescue.

That was all they had time for, and thus Louise Belcher became a minor person-of-interest story in the UK.

London radio presenter Jacqueline Lee, was also handed the brief for the news segment of her station. Again, she was intrigued by it, but not enough to follow it up.

“And, finally,” she began, glancing down at the paper, “a nine-year-old girl has been rescued after being trapped in an abandoned water well for five days. Louise Belcher, from New Jersey, was pushed into the 14-inch wide well on Friday evening, and was rescued the following Wednesday after 114 hours. She remains hospitalised in intensive care, being treated for severe dehydration, along with a broken leg and collarbone.”

In America, it was the same, except that the stories were more detailed.

* * *

**Bob and Linda attend the kids school Christmas concert, and afterwards, they go to the mall to visit Santa, where Louise, now 10, asks for something important:**

“I hope Louise has cheered up now,” said Linda, as she and Bob drove to Wagstaff for the school's annual Christmas concert.

“Yeah, she's been.. moody today,” was all Bob said. “Probably another nightmare.” Pulling into a parking space, they entered the school, removing their coats.

“To be fair, she hasn't been like this for a while now,” Linda mused, as they took their seats in the rapidly filling auditorium. “She's bound to have her bad days now and again. I guess it's just proof that the pills are working.” They were still getting used to those bad days, themselves. Loud and moody Louise, they could deal with; they were used to that. But quiet and moody Louise (like she was today) was so different, and it could be quite unnerving.

“Yeah, you're right; I hate seeing her miserable. I hate seeing any of our kids miserable,” Bob admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper as Mr Frond called for silence.

They spoke no more, for the curtains were drawn back, and applause sounded throughout the room as the children were revealed. As always, they were dressed in red satin robes lined with gold, and as always, they were arranged in grade order, from youngest to oldest. It was the same it was every single year, and Linda could never get enough of it.

Louise, instantly identifiable by her bunny ears, was just off centre, standing next to Rudy. She still wore a look of deep irritation, and was looking over the heads of the audience, the expression on her face suggesting she would rather be anywhere else.

Gene, in one of the middle rows, also stood out easily, due to his excited swaying and beaming smile. As soon as he spotted his parents, he waved wildly, despite not being allowed to, and poor Tina was in the back row, and been placed next to Zeke, much to her displeasure. But even if she hadn't, her awkward, stiff stance would still be the same, and she would still be facing straight ahead, not knowing who she should be focusing on.

As the parents pulled out phones, cameras, and even tablets, the piano started and the kids began singing. It was a cacophony, but an endearing cacophony. Christmas songs always somehow sounded sweeter when it came from the mouths of untrained kids. You had the choir kids who belted with joy, you had the wannabes who tried too hard, warbling above everyone else. There were kids who were out of time, kids who were out of tune, and kids who basically shouted every word. They couldn't keep with the fast timing of “Carol of the Bells,” and many of them struggled to hit the high notes in “O Holy Night,” but it was music to their ears.

Gene was one of the belters, singing at the top of his lungs, adding a little extra dance move here and there. Bob and Linda smiled proudly; their son had such stage presence; he simply commanded you to look at him.

Tina's monotone could just about be heard, and that was only because her parents were listening for it. Still, she looked as though she was enjoying herself – when she wasn't gazing longingly over at Jimmy Jr, that is.

Louise still had a slight scowl playing about her face, and every so often, she would heave a sigh. Her singing couldn't be heard, and she kept raising her eyes to the ceiling as though she was bored. Although Bob and Linda had to chuckle when she shot a glare at Mr Frond, who was conducting in front of the stage. They were very glad they weren't on the receiving end of that.

“N'aw, I love it!” Linda cried, as soon as the curtain had closed for the interval. “Oh, it gets better every year!”

“Yeah. Well, at least most of the kids enjoy it,” said Bob.

“Did you manage to get it on camera?” she asked, and Bob adjusted the camcorder he was holding.

“Uh, yeah. Let me quickly see how it looks,” and he pressed a button, and Linda leaned in.

“Wasn't it great?” said one of the mothers in front of them.

“It really was; did you hear my Rebecca get those high notes? She sounded beautiful!”

“Oh, yeah, she looked as though she was enjoying herself. Not like that little girl in the front.” Linda's ears instantly pricked up when she heard that. Nobody spoke ill of her babies. She knew they were talking about Louise because none of the kids had a face like thunder.

“Don't you recognise her? That's the little girl who was stuck in the well.”

“Oh, my God, you're right! Of course, it makes sense now.”

Linda pursed her lips slightly, but did not say anything, due to the second half starting.

“ _Who's lookin' forward to seeing Santa?”_ she sang as they piled into the car after the concert, smiling at the excited choruses of “Me! Me!”

She leaned forward, and turned on the radio, tuning in to the Christmas music station.

Pulling up outside the OMG mall, they went in, taking a moment to savour the heating at the entrance. The place was crowded, but not crazy Christmas crowded. After all, it was a school night, and there was still more than two weeks before the big day.

“Does anyone want a pretzel or something?” asked Bob, as they walked past the shops, heading to the grotto.

“Are you actually offering to spend money on us? Who are you and what have you done with my father?” said Louise, her sarcastic tone slightly dulled.

“Well, we've had a good couple of months; I can afford to spoil you,” he joked, but Louise did not answer.

“I could go for a pretzel,” said Tina, but Louise shook her head.

“After Santa,” she insisted. “Santa first; that's the most important thing.”

“All right, we'll go and see Santa, then we'll get pretzels, and maybe we'll just have a little look around after that,” said Linda, as Santa's grotto came into view, and the kids got in line, while Bob and Linda stood and waited nearby.

Finally, it was their turn, and the Belcher kids stepped up onto the platform. As always, they were momentarily transfixed at the sight of the jolly man. They took in his red velvet suit with the white fur trim, his black leather gloves, his buckled boots.

Louise, brushing off any attempts by her siblings to help her, climbed on to Santa's knee, waiting impatiently as her brother and sister did so as well.

“Hello, kids!” Santa beamed, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Have you all been good this year?”

“I've been _very_ good,” Louise insisted.

Bob and Linda stood with their arms around each other, smiling as their kids talked to Santa. It was little moments like these that they cherished, even more so now, because it could have all been so different. This was looking to be their best Christmas ever. Thanks to the restaurant being somewhat successful, they had actually been able to get their kids some decent presents this year.

“And what would you like for Christmas?” asked Santa, and Louise didn't hesitate to grab his lapel and pull him down to her level. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she whispered something into his ear. Although the mall Santa was a professional, he couldn't help the small glint of sadness that pierced his gaze. Of course, ever the pro, he quickly covered it up and looked his usual, jovial self.

Bob and Linda each felt a twinge of worry; they always tried their best to give their kids the presents they wanted, but it couldn't happen all the time. Louise must be asking for something big if it was something she was keeping a secret. The last thing they wanted was to disappoint their children.

“Well, now,” the voice of Santa caught their attention. “That's quite a big request, there. You think big; I like that,” he said, and Louise grinned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “What you're asking for hasn't been invented yet, but I promise you I'll get my elves working on it right away. I can't guarantee that it'll be ready in time for _this_ Christmas, but when it is, it'll be under your tree. Is that okay?”

“... Okay,” Louise, clearly content with the answer, nodded and smiled. Santa smiled back, before turning to Gene.

“And what would you like for Christmas?”

“I want an industrial sized tub of Pinkles!” he said, nodding vigorously, and Santa chuckled.

“I don't think that'll be a problem.” Bob and Linda sighed in relief, so grateful they knew their son. They'd already bought lots of tubs of Pinkles, and now they needed to find the mother tub, to put them all in. That shouldn't be too hard. “And what can we get for you?” he turned to Tina.

“I would like memory foam pillow, so I can shape it to look like a butt,” she said, and Santa laughed again.

“Excellent choice; I think that can be arranged. You know what? I think you kids are gonna have a great Christmas.”

“Thanks, Santa,” Tina smiled. Beaming widely, Santa gave them each a candy cane, before they had their photo taken by the elf.

While the kids hopped off the platform, distracted by their treats, Bob and Linda rushed over to Santa.

“What did our daughter ask for? What did she whisper to you?” Bob whispered, bending over under the pretext of looking in the candy cane basket. Santa looked at him, that slightly sad look coming over his face once again.

“She asked me for a time machine,” he revealed. Bob heart sunk, and he felt as though he had been dunked into a bucket of misery. His poor baby.

Looking subdued, the parents stepped off the platform, which did not go unnoticed.

“What were you doing up there; you're too old for presents from Santa,” Louise said, taking her candy cane out of her mouth.

“We, er, wanted to get a candy cane,” said Linda quickly, wanting desperately to sweep Louise up in her arms and smother her with kisses.

“Grown-ups don't get them,” Louise shrugged.

“Is that why you look so sad?” asked Tina, and Bob and Linda tried to unsuccessfully rearrange their facial expressions.

“What did Santa do to you?!” Gene demanded, snapping his candy cane in half.

“Gene, calm down, it's okay. Your mom and I are said because we didn't get any candy canes. That's all.”

Satisfied, the siblings turned and began walking. Bob and Linda took each others' hands, and walked behind them.

* * *

**Could you tell I wanted to be a journalist when I was younger? Here is a news report. These are based on the earlier drafts when Louise was still stuck halfway. In that version, had her entire left foot removed, due to gangrene:**

Seated on the comfortable studio sofa, Olsen Benner smiled into the camera.

"Good morning, Seymour's Bay, and welcome to your 'Daily Dose of Olsen.' We've got some great stories for you coming up on today's show.”

Olsen Benner's round-the-clock news coverage all those years ago had certainly put her on the map. After winning the Pulitzer Prize for “Breaking News Reporting,” Olsen had gone to New York, and had co-hosted one of the most prestigious shows in the state. She soon found that she missed her small, ocean side town, and returned home, where she was promptly offered her own morning breakfast television show. It was only supposed to be a one season show, but ratings were so effective, that it was still running eight years later. Olsen couldn't be happier.

“Now there were many top important news stories in the year 2019, but in February, the nation held its breath for the plight of one little girl.

“Louise Belcher was just nine-years-old when she fell down an abandoned water well in Seymour's Bay, New Jersey. She had been pushed by her teenage bully. Rescuers worked around the clock for five days to free her, and finally, after 114 hours, Louise was pulled from the well. That was ten years ago. Louise is nineteen now, and is going to speak to us in just a few moments, but first let's take a look back at one of the most memorable news stories of the new tens.”

Louise was sat there, dressed casually of course; being on TV was old hat for her, and she didn't see the need to dress up, especially when nobody was going to see her. Both of her parents had offered to come along, but Louise declined. Her precious bunny ears were tucked up in the pocket of her oversized hoodie, and she reached in and gently stroked the pink felt.

As Olsen continued to talk, Louise lifted her gaze to the ceiling, examining the bright lights. She was bored, but wasn't able to get up and have a nose around.

In fact, the only reason she had agreed to this stupid interview was because they wouldn't leave her alone. She'd lost count of all the phone calls and emails she'd gotten. Yes, it was a big deal; ten years since she survived, hooray and all that, but Louise had no strong desire to keep reminding everybody about it. However, due to her being the genius that she was, she realised that if she spoke about it, just once, then that might be good enough for them. Then at least if she continued to get pestered, she could say, “I already spoke about it.”

She'd agreed to the interview under the condition that they didn't show her face. How could she be expected to go about her life if people kept approaching and gushing over her? It was only natural, she was _Louise Belcher,_ but seriously, couldn't they talk about something else _other_ than the fact she got stuck in a well when she was a kid?

So, there she was, sitting in a plush armchair next to the camera that was facing Olsen. She knew there was a camera behind her, but she was okay with the back of her head being shown.

Louise tried to keep her face neutral as a little montage of the rescue attempt was played on the screens, with a narrator. A freakin' _narrator!_ It was so hard to not burst out laughing.

“On the evening of February 22nd, Louise was out running an errand for her father, Bob, when Logan Bush, the fifteen-year-old with anger issues who'd been bullying her, walked up to her and pushed her. Louise then fell into the uncovered well, becoming trapped eighty feet underground, and was buried in rubble. For the next five days, the nation watched anxiously as the rescue efforts unfolded. Rescuers drilled a parallel rescue shaft next to the well, and dug a connecting tunnel.”

Louise was watching the screens, watching as the diggers crowded around the tunnel, lowering a man down there. It brought back fresh memories, and she pursed her lips when the same old footage of her being brought up was played. “The thick rock, and the lack of adequate drills contributed to the slow process. Since her rescue, Louise has had multiple surgeries, including skin grafts, and had to relearn how to walk. She remains grateful to those who saved her life.”

A short time later, Olsen turned to her and nodded, and Louise straightened up slightly. “Good morning, Louise,” she smiled, and Louise politely smiled back.

“Good morning, Olsen.”

“Thank you so much for coming to speak to me today.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“This will be your first interview in ten years. Can you tell us why you decided to stay under the radar for so long, and why you decided to then do this interview?”

“Well, it was for privacy reasons, really,” said Louise. She wasn't crazy about talking so nice and politely, but it was part of being a grown-up, and Louise was most definitely a grown up. “I didn't really want to have my face everywhere, and I wanted to be anonymous, so I could live a normal life.”

“Well, you've definitely changed since the last time I saw you,” Olsen grinned, and Louise forced herself to smile. Duh, only ten years had passed; of course she had changed! “I recall that neither you or your family spoke much after you were rescued, did they?”

“No, they wanted to be with me while I recovered, and then they wanted me to decide whether or not I wanted to be on TV.”

“It was very nice of them to let you have that choice. I know lots of people thought that once you were free, your ordeal was over, but it wasn't, was it?”

“No; it was a long recovery,” Louise admitted, her mouth twisting. “I still have problems with my back, and my hearing is still shot. I was in hospital for two months.” If only her nine-year-old self could have seen into the future and realised that the more she spoke about her ordeal, the easier it got. It would have saved a lot of hassle.

“You still have a few scars, don't you?” asked Olsen. “You had a special surgery – what was it called? The fasciotomy?”

“Yeah, a fasciotomy. Basically, they had to cut my arms and legs open because they had no blood flow. The scars have pretty much faded now.” She was now extra glad that she hadn't agreed to be on camera; Olsen would have more than likely asked her to show her scars. “But I've lived a normal life,” she finished.

“Certainly those scars are evidence of your strong-willed nature; I can remember stories of you bossing the rescue workers around,” Olsen chuckled. “I won't ask you what you remember from your time in the well, because you've mentioned before that you don't like to speak about it. But have you ever gone back there? To the well?”

“Yes, I've gone back. I went back there once, years ago, because I just wanted to see what it looked like,” said Louise, crossing her legs and swinging her prosthetic foot. She knew Olsen was going to want more context, and so she quickly continued. “It felt a little weird, but it made it seem more real.”

“I mentioned earlier that you're nineteen now. Do you still get recognised as Louise Belcher, the little girl who was stuck in the well?”

“Sometimes,” Louise admitted. “I mean, I live in a small town, and so most people I grew up with, and they don't make a big deal of it. But sometimes, when we get tourists, some of them will come up to me, and say I look like Louise Belcher.”

“And what do you say to that?” Olsen was smiling, and looked amused, in a nice way.

“I just tell them I get that all the time,” Louise laughed. “They usually just laugh as well, and move on. I'm not ashamed of it,” she added, even though it was only partly true, “but I don't want that to be the only thing people know about me.”

“What about the kids at school? Because you were quite famous after the rescue, weren't you? What were they like?”

“They were fine with it,” Louise shrugged, preferring to omit the teasing, the _Lassie_ jokes (“What, Lassie? Louise is trapped down a well?”), the whispered rumours of hidden deformities (which were totally false, by the way). “It's not like I had cameras following me around school, so it was kinda like it never happened. I guess, really, the only thing that changed was that I couldn't do sports for a while.”

“So, your life pretty much went back to normal?” Olsen confirmed, and Louise nodded.

“Yeah, that's right.”

“After you got out of the hospital and came home, your parents probably got a little overprotective of you. Did anything change in that regard?”

“Not really,” Louise said, after thinking for a little bit. “They knew that my brother and sister would watch out for me, but they also knew that something like that wouldn't happen again.”

“Speaking of, your father ended up pressing charges against the boy who pushed you,” said Olsen, and Louise stiffened slightly, “and he was sentenced to five years in prison; that was quite a big deal, wasn't it?”

“I suppose it was.”

“I guess your dad had finally had enough, hadn't he?”

“I think the final straw was Logan threatening me after I got out of hospital.” Not ordinarily willing to talk about that, Louise decided that it was okay. She doubted Logan had changed, and this would be a nice little reminder. “He just wanted him to be properly punished.”

“He also had to pay you compensation. How much was that again?”

“$10,000,” Louise confirmed.

“I know that the public donated money into a fund for you. Do you still have any of that left?”

“No, the money was spent on my hospital bill, and what was left was on physical therapy, and stuff like that.”

“I see. So, what's next for you? You've graduated from high school; are you going to college?”

“I'm taking a gap year. I'm planning to take over my family's restaurant; Bob's Burgers, and I shall probably study marketing and business next year.”

“So, will you just run the place, or will you be more hands on?”

“I'll be hands on; I'll prep and cook and take care of the finances.”

“Well, I think you'll be more than up to the challenge,” smiled Olsen, and Louise couldn't help but beam. Of course she would. “Will you rename it 'Louise's Burgers'?”

“I might.” That was something she was still undecided on. Keeping the name as it was would be a little tribute to her dad. Yeah, he was ancient, boring, and smelly, but (and she would never admit it aloud) he made good burgers, and you might say he inspired her (she wouldn't say that – out loud, at least). So, maybe the name should stay.

On the other hand, she would have her very own restaurant, and a name change would symbolise that. New manager, new name. That was how it went, right?

“Well, I wish you the best of luck, and thank you so much for coming to speak to me. It was great to see you again.”

“Thank you again for having me.”

Olsen paused, smiling, and Louise briefly wondered if the journalist had glitched, but then the director called out, “cut!”, and she moved.

“Thanks again, Louise,” she rose from the sofa and Louise stood up as well. “Lovely to see you doing so well.” She reached out and shook Louise's hand.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, listen, when you take over the restaurant, give me a call, and I'll bring a crew down to film it.”

“That's a good idea,” Louise nodded. “Well, I've gotta get going now, so I'll see you.”

“Bye,” Olsen called as Louise and a crew member left the set. She didn't need to be escorted around, but the Channel Six news studio was a maze filled with running wires, and people in black T-shirts carrying heavy things, and so there wasn't really an option to go exploring. It wasn't every day she got a chance to walk around a real news studio, but Louise knew she wouldn't be able to slip away.

Besides, Olsen had given her something to think about; having the restaurant be featured on the news could be great for business. When it was officially in her name, it should be a celebration, and what better way to celebrate than by sharing it with the world?

Now she was realising that her “fame” was a great way to request favours from others. Definitely food for thought. Not that she was going to rebrand the entire restaurant in her “little girl rescued from well” image, but she had friends in high places now. Olsen, the Fire Chief, the Police Chief, not to mention all the police- and firemen. Even the Mayor. They would probably all be willing to help her out if she needed it.

The crew member opened the door for her, and Louise stepped out into the sunshine. Rebuffing his offer to walk her to her (parents) car, Louise walked across the car park, pulling the keys from her pocket. Although she'd been driving for a few years now, the rush still hadn't worn off.

As she drove, a plan formulated in her mind, of how she could really put the restaurant on the map. The Mayor attending the (sort of) opening of a restaurant was newsworthy, definitely, and maybe she could ask Skip Marooch if he could swing by; a seal of approval from a celebrity chef would be sure to get people inside. She knew that Skip had already endorsed their food, but she would actually play up to it, and put up a poster in the window: “Skip Marooch loves Louise's Burgers!”

She shook her head a little; why had her father not appointed her as head of advertising years ago? Well, no matter, she was in charge now, so she could run the place the way it was meant to be run.

Louise couldn't help but smile; finally, thanks to her, the restaurant would at last get the success it more than deserved.

When she arrived home, she went straight to her room, and logged on to her email. She began writing messages to Richards, Davis, the Mayor, Skip, Koji, Yuki, and, what the hell, Patrick and Simon, as well, along with Tim and Charlie. She wrote of her plans to run her family's restaurant, and that she would love to invite them to the grand opening. It wouldn't be now, perhaps in a year or two, but she would love for them all to be there.

Hey, all that writing had definitely paid off, in more ways than one.

Closing the laptop, Louise fist pumped in triumph.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I mentioned Baby Jessica here, but I just wanted to say that the story was not based on her. I did watch the film when I was little (the real thing happened way before I was born), and when researching for the story, I read some articles about her. I just wanted to get that out of the way.  
> Actually, the story was inspired by the episodes Large Brother and Better off Sled. In both of them I was concerned about Logan's aggressiveness and his anger toward Louise. Even though I know it's a show, I was worried he was going to hurt her, and I thought "what if he did? What would he do?" And that's how it came about.  
> As, always, thank you everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos.


End file.
